Kitra
=Kitra's Personality= Though pessimistic and ill-tempered, Kitra is loyal to those whom she considers to be friends. Kitra is very unstable emotionally, often wavering in her opinions when someone whom she trusts or admires attempts to influence her with their ideals. Kitra, when under too much strain, often launches into a nervous breakdown, much to the frustration of those around her. Other Facts About Kitra: *Kitra's birthday is December the 23rd. *Kitra is 24 years of age. *Kitra was an officer in the Retribution of Arathor prior to its earlier dissolution. *Kitra and her younger brother, Marris, both speak with an accent. In OOC terms, their accent is considered to be of a more "Russian" dialect. *Kitra is the proprietor of the establishment known as the Crimson Jewel tavern which was located in Stormwind's Park District for the majority of its lifespan while under Kitra's supervision. Later, due to the frequent calamities that seemed to take place in the "Crimson," as its customers affectionately referred to it, Kitra finally came to the conclusion that the tavern was cursed, which subsequently led to the decision to relocate the tavern in Ironforge in hope that she and her friends could at last enjoy some measure of peace. Unfortunately, while the move did serve to mitigate the chaos that haunted the tavern to an extent, Kitra was still quite unhappy with the tavern's new location, which she claimed made her feel claustrophobic at times due to the fact that the great Dwarven city lay in the bowels of a mountain. "I can't stand the fact that I can never see the sky," she would sometimes comment to her closest friends. *The Crimson Jewel in Ironforge was officially reopened on Sunday, March 15th. *Much to her chagrin, Kitra often finds herself heavily depending on her brother and friends for support in times of crisis. *Some of the first people Kitra came to call her "friends" after journeying to the kingdom of Stormwind included Antigone Veritas and Ravine Lunaletha. *Kitra loves the company of dwarves, surprisingly enough, because she claims that they always make her laugh, even when she is down. *Kitra often bickered with a young gnome girl named "Riely" but, in spite of this, it was obvious that she did in fact care about the child as if she were her little sister. Now they seem to get along better, to an extent, although Kitra is a bit overprotective of the girl. *Kitra's most oft-repeated phrase was simply, "Marris, you dolt!" *Kitra's brother's (Marris) birth date was March 20th. =Kitra's History= Twenty Years Prior to World of Warcraft "Why? Why can't I stay with her?" cried the female child, arms flailing about as two attendants dragged her from her mother's bed chambers and into the sitting room beyond. Behind them, she could still hear her mother gasping and groaning, the woman's obvious agony radiating throughout the house like a flickering lantern on a moonless night. What is wrong with you, Mommy? Closing the large, ornate oaken door behind her, one of the female attendants dropped to one knee, facing the child, her weary gaze meeting the huge, innocent eyes staring back at her. It was almost too much to bear, but she knew that she had to be honest, for there was no other choice in this matter. "Your mother is ill, Kitra," the woman spoke softly. "You must let her rest if you wish for her to recover." She then wagged her forefinger in the girl's face in an admonishing fashion, her voice growing stern. "And believe me, young lady, you will leave her be until I say otherwise." Kitra only glared at the woman, tears welling in the corners of her large, silvery eyes. "But Mommy needs me," she protested. "I must go to her!" Without another word, the attendant abruptly rose to her feet and strode from the room, leaving the now sobbing child alone. Despite the urge to follow the attendant, Kitra remained where she stood, paralyzed with fear. At three years of age, she was far too young to understand the complications of a pregnancy, and definitely too young to understand the scandalous circumstances surrounding this particular pregnancy. The Aeldron household, while certainly not royalty, was still incredibly wealthy and quite well known to the citizens that inhabited the small portside town just west of Southshore. If word of her mother's infidelity was to ever spread, her family's name would be forever sullied. Agonizing minutes slowly turned into hours. More attendants streamed to and from her mother's room. They seemed too preoccupied with whatever was transpiring behind that door to be concerned about Kitra. Every so often she could hear her father's angry voice booming from the room. Although she could barely discern what he was saying, it seemed that his anger was directed at the attendants. Kitra was nearly asleep when she noticed a long shadow creeping across the sofa on which she sat. She glanced up at the man she knew only too well. "Daddy!" she cried joyfully, throwing her tiny arms around her father's legs, waiting for him to scoop her up into his normally affectionate embrace. But her father only remained still and trembling, as if frozen in place. "Daddy, what is wrong?" Kitra asked, looking up at her father. His normally composed demeanor had vanished, leaving only a shell of the man that Kitra knew as her father; the man who had fought bravely in the Second War; the man who claimed nothing could unnerve him. This frightened Kitra. What possibly could have upset her father so much? After a moment, her father stooped down, facing his young daughter, grasping her by the shoulders. Kitra could see the glint of tears in his eyes. "Kitra, I want you to be strong," he whispered. "No matter what happens, you are still my daughter." He suddenly clasped his right hand over his eyes, as if trying to regain his composure. "And remember," he said in a choked voice, "no matter what evil may be spoken of your mother, she was a good woman." Kitra could only stare at her father, wide-eyed, unable to comprehend the message that he was trying to convey. "Why would anyone say anything evil about Mommy?" she asked curiously. Without a word, her father swept the child up into his arms, sinking into the armchair beside him. He gently placed her upon his lap, as he would often do when he would read stories to her in the evening. "Never mind, darling," he whispered. "It is nothing..." 'Sixteen Years Prior to World of Warcraft' "Marris, just STOP!" Kitra growled at her now four-year-old brother who was repeatedly splashing her as she waded into a cool stream on the edge of her father's estate. Why must I always babysit him, anyway? "But you are so funny when you're angry," the boy replied, laughing. "Well, now look what you've done," she groaned. "My clothes are ruined! I'll be punished for sure!" At this, a frown appeared on Marris' face. "I am sorry," he said genuinely. "I will tell them it was my fault," he offered. "Just forget it," Kitra said with a heavy sigh. "Maybe I'll dry off before then." As Marris happily went back to playing, Kitra couldn't help but think about the fact that no matter what went wrong, it was almost always Marris who was punished, even when it was truly Kitra's fault. Because of this fact, she would try to let him off the hook once in a while. Still, she couldn't help but wonder why her father acted as if he didn't care about Marris at all. He never paid the boy a drop of attention --the attention that was typical of most fathers. In fact, he was always trying to rid himself of Marris it seemed, whether by forcing Kitra to watch the child or by sending him to a nanny. Of course, Kitra wouldn't discover that her brother was indeed the child of a different father until many years later. But in spite of his mixed blood, Marris and Kitra were very similar in appearance. Both possessed same dark hair and pale complexion that their mother bore, meaning that very few people would ever assume that Kitra's father was not Marris' biological father. Five Years Prior to World of Warcraft Many things came to change for the Aeldron family over the years, and those that knew them felt that either the family was simply the victim of terrible misfortune, or that perhaps the family was even cursed or bewitched in some manner. Kitra's father had taken to drinking too much to soothe his never-ending depression and, in the end, it cost him his life when he took a tumble over a balcony nearly four years ago. His entire estate had been used to pay his many debts, leaving Kitra and Marris literally copperless. They were forced to work as laborers on the estate of a noble family in order to earn enough wages to buy food. Kitra, now a young woman of eighteen, was miserable. Many of the people who had once shown great respect for Kitra's family now simply thumbed up their noses at her, or, even worse, they looked upon her with pity. If there was anything worse than being pitied, Kitra could not begin to fathom what that might be. Sometimes she felt that death would be a much kinder fate, but she didn't have the resolve to take her own life. Besides, she couldn't leave Marris alone. At fifteen, he seemed very thin and sickly to her, and she had grown to be fiercely protective--perhaps overprotective--of her younger brother. In her own mind, she was the parent he had never had. Now rumors were beginning to surface that another war was about to begin; and while working at one of the opulent parties hosted by her affluent employers, Kitra couldn't help but to overhear the whispers of several battle-hardened soldiers as they spoke of the tension that was simmering in the North--this was not something to jest about, they feared. If this now seemingly imminent war happened to encroach upon her hometown, Kitra was terrified that everything she cherished so dearly would be obliterated. The Third War "Kitra, you must wake up!" came the frantic voice of Marris, which was rare indeed considering how composed the boy normally was. Despite the fact that Kitra silently realized Marris had not a drop of her father's blood in his veins, she could count myriad similarities between the two, from the tone of their voices to the way in which they carried themselves. It was a strange coincidence. Kitra slowly rose into a seated position, groggily rubbing her eyes while grumbling simultaneously. She loathed being woken from a deep sleep, and Marris knew this only too well. She wondered what could possess him to do such a thing. "What's this about?" she hissed. "You know I'm ex-" Her words instantly died on her lips, her heart freezing in place as she witnessed the fear in her brother's eyes. "W-what is it?" she asked nervously. Outside, the shouts of frightened villagers could be heard in the distance. A sinking feeling began to creep into her body. "Th-the entire village is in an uproar!" the shaken boy stammered. There is word of a plague spreading in the cities to the north," he continued, struggling to remain calm. "They say there is a chance it will spread here as well!" Kitra immediately went about packing what few possessions the siblings owned. She had no idea where they would go, but then again, could it be much worse than catching the plague? Still, it would take a few days before they would be prepared to leave, she knew. But she didn't plan to stick around until her home was reduced to smoldering ashes and the plague was clawing at her intestines, either. Must hurry. Must hurry, screamed the voice inside of Kitra's head. Time was running out. Seven Days Later As Kitra and Marris made their way through the village, the wails and screams of those who had been stricken by the plague could be heard coming from many of the homes that dotted the edges of the cobblestone streets in the normally quaint little town. There were very few lanterns lit that evening as most of the populace had shuttered themselves up inside of their homes. Kitra's eyes frantically searched the heavens for even the slightest trace of the soft, welcoming glow of the moon, but there was nothing to be found as the moon was blotted out by many dense gray clouds which seemed to hover menacingly over Kitra's head, as if daring her to try to run from them. Kitra slowly craned her neck to get a better look at Marris. His expression was emotionless, she noticed. "Are you..." she paused for a second. "Are you all right, Marris?" she asked in a low voice. He met her gaze. "I will be once you are safe." Kitra's expression contorted into a look of terror as another blood-curdling shriek rippled throughout the chilly night air. She suddenly found herself grasping the hilt of the small sword she was carrying beneath her cloak. While she had never used one before, she hoped that she could defend herself if necessary. As they neared the village gates, they witnessed a group of guards attempting to subdue some strange, almost human-like creature. It bore a faint, greenish skin tone and wispy blond tassels dangled from its moldering flesh . The creature's eyes bulged in their sockets as a green maw of light pulsated within them. Kitra felt droplets of sweat beading upon her forehead as she noticed the regal, intricate gown the creature was garbed in. Something about the creature looked familiar to Kitra. "In the name of the Light," Kitra whispered in disbelief. Marris only bowed his head. He seemed to sense what Kitra was about to say. She turned to Marris. "Tell me that isn't Lady Calaera!" she pleaded. Only silence. "Marris, no human should look like that! No human could look like that!" "That is because she is not human," Marris replied quietly. "She had succumbed to the plague and was buried this morning. I fear that this is far worse than a simple illness." Kitra's throat went dry as she finally began to comprehend the gravity of the situation. Her thoughts seemed to drift from reality as the icy fingers of fear clawed at her mind. How can we possibly escape? Kitra only snapped back into reality when she heard more terrified shrieks in the distance. She looked up to see that there were now several of those sickly looking creatures, and they were slaughtering the villagers! The stench of death filled her nostrils. She watched in horror as the sickly looking things clawed and tore at the frightened humans. Shrill cries emanated from within them. For an instant, Kitra could have sworn that one of the creatures looked repulsed. But how can this be? She forced her eyes shut for a moment, and upon opening them again, any trace of humanity had vanished from the creature's face. Had she imagined it? She suddenly wanted to vomit. What if these monsters were actually aware of the fact that they were harming their friends? Kitra could think of no fate that was worse. She turned to ask Marris if he had noticed it too, but he was gone. She felt the incipient panic bubbling within her gut as she scanned the crowd for him, wondering where the heck he had run off to. At last she forced herself to slowly approach the maw of chaos that stood before her. If Marris was in there, she wouldn't leave him to a certain death. She jumped as she felt someone grab her forearm. "Mar-" she began, thinking it was her brother, but quickly realized it was only a soldier after a moment. "You need to leave here now, Miss, if you value your life," he said urgently. "No!" Kitra wailed. "I must find my brother!" Two Years Later The sun was unbearably hot that day. Even the shade of the tent made very little difference that stifling afternoon. Kitra wondered how she had let herself get mixed up in this insanity. Establishing a Church of Light in Kalimdor? Impossible! Everyone knew it was dangerous for humans on this continent, with the exception of only a few places. Still, when Kitra had originally made the decision to work as a servant for the traveling clergy, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. It was chance to see new places, and at least she wouldn't have to worry about where her next meal would come from. But now she realized that this job was as dangerous as anything else. She had witnessed several skirmishes fought with the Horde over the past two years, and had seen many lives needlessly frittered away as well. Kitra despised this war, a war that, in her mind, was absolutely unnecessary. Is it really worth all of this? Kitra sat cross-legged on the floor of the tent she and Marris had been assigned to. She was staring blankly ahead, her thoughts drifting into the deepest recesses of her mind. An armored man suddenly entered the tent. Obviously startled, Kitra stared up at him, brushing one of her dark tresses away from her face. "Yes?" "I have something for your brother, lass," he said, glancing towards the young man sitting in the corner. "One of the clergy asked that I give it to him." "What is it?" Marris asked from the other side of the tent. The man handed a worn, leather-bound book to Marris who, in turn, carefully ran his fingers along the edges of the book's cover. After a few seemingly interminable seconds, the young man finally broke the silence by asking, "What kind of book is this, sir?" The man burst out laughing. "Why, lad, what is wrong with you? Can't you read the cover?" "No, he cannot," Kitra said flatly. "He is... blind." Color rose in the man's cheeks. "I'm terribly sorry..." "Do not apologize," said Marris. "I should have told you, and everyone else, sooner." Seeming to be at a loss for words, the man quickly withdrew from the tent. Several minutes of silence followed before Marris finally broke the ice. "Kitra, it is not a big deal. Just relax, please?" No response. "Kitra, what is the book about?" "Who cares?" Kitra said angrily. Marris sighed. "It is my sight, Kitra. So quit agonizing over it." "If I had gotten there sooner that night, then maybe you wouldn't have been injured," she said somberly. "What could you have possibly done?" he asked incredulously. "Do not forget that you are a woman. Not to mention you had little skill with a weapon." "All right," Kitra said at last. "Let me have the book." As she thumbed through the book's many pages, Kitra began to realize it contained the Church of Light's teachings. She finally looked up after a moment. "Marris, did you ask them for this?" The young man nodded. "Yes, I did. I was hoping you could read some of the passages to me. Someday I would like to follow the path of the Light myself." Oh great. "I will," she replied, trying her hardest to conceal her annoyance. "But there's something else I'd like to discuss with you first." Marris just waited patiently, listening. After a few moments, Kitra finally spoke. "I'd like to head back to the Eastern Kingdoms soon. Maybe we can find work in one of the cities in the South, such as Stormwind." Marris looked more than a little surprised. "When would you like to do this?" Kitra shook her head in dismay. "It won't be immediately, that's a fact. But I intend to do it eventually." She then picked up the book her brother had handed her and began reading aloud... Kitra's Alleged Death After her younger brother, Marris, at the age of twenty-one, had allegedly committed suicide, Kitra seemed to be handling it well enough to those around her; at least on the surface. But, in truth, she was only concealing her inner turmoil so as not to appear to be weak or mentally unstable. After all, there was nothing more demeaning to her than to be thought of as dependent or incompetent. The only clues she left behind before simply vanishing were statements such as "I know there must be a way to resurrect him" and "If I start searching now, maybe I can find a way to return to Marris to life within a few months". Unbeknownst to those around her, Kitra, out of desperation and the fact that she was too absorbed in her own little world to think rationally, foolishly began to delve into a world in which she did not belong, gathering books detailing the the foul practice of necromancy, hoping this would yield the information she so ardently desired. She would return Marris to the world of the living. Failure was not a word in her vocabulary. Only days after Marris' death, Kitra secretly embarked upon a journey that was doomed to end in tragedy from the start. She recalled once hearing a self-proclaimed necromancer by the name of Neyv state that the now Scourge-infested crypts beneath Caer Darrow housed a school -- a school of necromancy. If there was any truth in his words, she felt that she must seek out this school at any cost. And so it was decided: Kitra would journey there in order to obtain the knowledge she sought; the knowledge that she hoped could resurrect her fallen sibling. But Kitra was horribly unprepared -- both mentally and physically -- for the horrors which lay deep within the bowels of the ruined keep of Caer Darrow. It was far too late to turn back by the time she began to realize that she had suffered an egregious lapse in judgment when she decided to venture down into Scholomance. Knowing that she would not leave the crypts alive, Kitra, for the first time in many years, prayed to the Light for forgiveness for what she perceived to be a life wrought with mishaps and transgressions she had made. But, aside from the feelings of regret, she felt no fear or anger. In fact, she almost welcomed the imminent death because she desired to be reunited with her brother so badly -- and in the farthest reaches of her mind, she knew this was the only possible way that her wish would be granted... Strange Sightings A young woman bearing a striking resemblance to Kitra was recently seen milling about in the cavernous halls of Ironforge. She claimed that her name was "Cilah," but her erratic, borderline psychotic behavior made certain people wonder what her true agenda was. =All Hail the Ringmaster= ((Note that some knowledge of the cult known as the "Unspoken Word" may be required in order to fully understand this story. )) Cilah stifled a yawn as she ran the tips of her pale fingers across the top of the oaken barrel that stood in front of her. She couldn't allow her exhaustion to manifest itself; she wouldn't let Lady Kysarra down no matter what. After all, if not for Kysarra's generosity, Cilah would be little more than a pile of gore decaying in the in the crypts beneath Caer Darrow. Her head started to spin. She felt nauseous as she doubled over slightly. Why was it that every time the most minuscule of thoughts about that place flickered into her head, she felt as if she was going to vomit? She knew that somewhere within the deepest recesses of her mind the answer lay dormant. For she remembered nothing of her life prior to being rescued by Lady Kysarra. Occasionally an image or two would invade her thoughts, but that was all. A part of Cilah wanted to force herself to build upon these images, extracting the entire memories, but there was a fear that clawed at her innards every time she attempted to do so. In the end, she would always surrender to this overpowering feeling in order to make it vanish. "Why, Cilah, are you ill?" The melodic voice interrupted Cilah's thoughts, causing her to whirl around so that she was facing the auburn-haired woman standing behind her. "Lady Kysarra!" stammered the young woman as she straightened her frilly, aqua-hued costume in a vain attempt to look as if she had been rehearsing her dance. Kysarra's blood-red lips curled upward slightly, her expression now somewhere between a snarl and a grin. Nevertheless, she remained silent as she waited for an explanation. Cilah's blue eyes darted in different directions as she struggled to come up with a believable fib. But every time she opened her mouth to reply, she would abruptly go silent as she realized that her lies wouldn't suffice. "Well?" prompted Kysarra, who seemed to be quickly growing impatient. "Well," Cilah began, pausing for a moment before answering. "In all honesty, I'm just tired." She involuntarily found herself wincing as she waited for Kysarra's response. She could see the woman's peachy complexion slowly turning into a shade of crimson. Cilah inhaled sharply before biting her lip. For whatever reason, she found Kysarra's scowling visage to be deathly frightening. "Tired?" Kysarra bellowed after a moment. "One of my performers is tired?" She furiously waved her right arm in the direction of the dancers rehearsing on the stage at the far end of the circus tent. "Either you start rehearsing or I'll beat you until you do!" she hissed. Cilah nodded obsequiously, desperately hoping to assuage Kysarra's violent temper. "Y-yes, m'am!" she stammered before practically sprinting onto the stage. Tired or not, if you were a member of Kysarra's troupe, you didn't falter for even a moment, Cilah knew. Most of the troupe, including Cilah, didn't mind the arduous tasks that Kysarra bestowed upon them simply because each of the girls owed Kysarra in some manner or another. Either Kysarra had rescued them from the brink of death or some other dire situation. In one case, Cilah recalled that a girl named Sahari had been imprisoned by a group of Light-worshiping extremists who claimed that the girl had to atone for what they considered to be a sinful life by starving to death in a cage. As fate would have it, Kysarra slew these "cultists" as she called them and saved the girl. In Sahari's opinion, the life of a circus performer was nothing next to the original fate that had awaited her. Cilah found herself concurring with that sentiment. Four Months Later Cilah lay atop the feathered mattress that had been given to her by Kysarra. For whatever reason, sleep wasn't coming to her easily that night. She had found it very odd that Kysarra had simply given her a tent just for herself. No strings attached, according to outwardly beautiful ringmaster. Cilah knew that she should be grateful for this gift --after all, she was now the envy of her fellow performers-- but she found the entire ordeal to be rather unsettling for some reason. A voice in the back of her mind was screaming at her to remain alert, and she desperately wished that she knew why. A crack of golden light shot into the tent, causing Cilah to blink rapidly, but she fought the urge to roll over and see who had just entered the tent in case it was Kysarra checking to make certain that Cilah had in fact gone to sleep. Once the light had blanketed the walls of the tent, Cilah could now make out the silhouette of a woman being projected onto the wall that was facing her. She drew in a shaky breath of the cool evening air, knowing that it must be Kysarra. "Well, Cilah? Where is it?" Ksyarra's question prompted Cilah to bolt up into a seated position, her gaze quickly moving from Kysarra's icy facial expression down to the glimmering knife the woman was clutching in her right hand. Taking notice of Cilah's apprehension, Kysarra shrugged her shoulders ever so slightly. "As you are well aware, young one, a woman must be capable of defending herself at all times, even if it only involves walking from one tent to the next." While Kysarra's obvious lie did little to ease Cilah's discomfort, the raven-haired woman somehow managed a smile and a nod; however, her eyes still remained glued to the knife. "Where's what?" she finally asked in a numb tone of voice. "Don't play coy with me," Kysarra snarled, her voice losing any inkling of kindness that it had held before. "Where is your piece of the soul?" she demanded, her features contorting into a look of fury. Cilah's eyes widened in fear as she gazed up at the enraged woman towering over her. She truly had not the slightest idea as to what Kysarra was rambling about, and she felt that if she didn't come up with an answer soon, she would never see a sunrise again. "What soul? If I can help, I will!" she blurted as quickly as she could in an effort to keep Kysarra distracted. Kysarra only rolled her eyes in exasperation before raising the knife over Cilah's head. "Honestly, did you think that I would trek all the way down into that damned place just to save a foolish child such as yourself?" She smirked. "Did you think that I was that desperate for another dancer? Of all the girls, you were the most difficult to rescue." She turned the knife over in her palm so that a flicker of lamplight glinted off it, revealing that the blade had been recently sharpened. "Now," she began in an ominous tone, "where is the piece of the soul you had in your possession?" Cilah's throat became dry as beads of sweat began to cascade down her forehead. "L-let me think about it for a second" she answered in a quavering voice. After another thirty seconds had passed, Kysarra was obviously out of patience. "No matter," she huffed. "I'll just be rid of you and find it myself! What a waste of my precious time this was! I'm certain one of the girls must know where you stashed the accursed thing!" Cilah let out a blood-curdling shriek as she raised her arms to cover her head. When she felt the tip of the knife cut into her right elbow, her screams only intensified, the withheld tears now flowing freely down her face. Cilah's entire body stiffened in expectation as she waited for another painful blow, but when no such blow came, she hesitantly looked up to see, to her amazement, Kysarra grappling with another person -- a human male. As the man gained control of Kysarra and the knife, he turned to Cilah and ordered, "Run! Why are you waiting? Do you want to die?" For whatever reason, Cilah found herself staring at her rescuer's face. He seemed vaguely familiar. Close to her age, she guessed. The same dark hair and pale skin. A sudden dizziness swept over her followed by a nauseating feeling permeating her stomach. Who is he? she wondered. "Please, tell me your name!" she begged. "Who cares?" the man yelled in frustration. "Leave now!" Cilah could see that Kysarra was desperately groping for the knife. If she stayed much longer the woman might free herself. Finally realizing that she had no choice but to comply, Cilah darted from the tent, regretting that she had been unable to help put Kysarra down. As she stumbled barefoot into moonlight outside, Cilah glanced over her shoulder one last time before dashing off into the darkness beyond her. -- After another grueling two months had passed, Cilah found that she had at last made it to the Eastern Kingdoms; more specifically, she was in the kingdom of Ironforge. She still didn't know how she had survived -- after all, she barely remembered the horribly sickening boat-ride from the other day. Upon arriving in the city district known as the Hall of Explorers, she found herself compelled to approach a particular two-story building which was nestled within the cavern walls. She gazed upward. There was light streaming from the windows. Someone must be home, she realized. Hesitantly, she made her way up the staircase leading into the house of stone as if an external force was controlling her physical movements. Why am I doing this? she silently asked herself. As she made her way into the house --still taking great pains to remain as silent as possible-- she found herself freezing in her tracks. It was as if her circulation had stopped. She swallowed before gathering the will to peer over the balustrade that granted a view of the floor below. Her eyes affixed themselves to the two figures conversing below -- a female, blue-haired gnome and a male, chestnut-haired human. Both appeared to be young as far as she could tell. She grasped her head with both hands; a terrible pain was rippling through her skull. "I know them...!" she gasped. But she quickly forced this realization out of her conscious thoughts so as to make the pain disappear, just as she always had. She would rather be ignorant and numb than ever experience that sensation again. She decided that it would be better if she left instead. And so she turned to leave... Category:Alliance category:Human category:Mage